


i’m your ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-cherry bomb

by QueenWithABeeThrone



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Paintball, Paintball War, Teamwork, cameos from allison argent and gwen stacy bc fuck you canon they're still alive to me, sam's mom's heavenly lasagna
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-30 08:50:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3930562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenWithABeeThrone/pseuds/QueenWithABeeThrone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Sam's expecting to see clean carpets and sleek lines when he walks into the Tower’s lobby.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Most days, he’d be right.</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>Today isn’t most days.</i></p><p> </p><p>Or: Sam Wilson gets caught up in a paintball war in Avengers Tower. Luckily, Bucky's there to pull him out of trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i’m your ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-cherry bomb

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for a prompt for an anon last year that said: _Sam Wilson - what no-one ever mentioned is that whilst the avengers are super skilled people, they're also fucking crazy._ Somehow that led to paintball shenanigans and the birth of Lasagna Cops. (I want to write more of these guys now, if we're being completely honest here.)

So here’s the thing: there’s something nobody ever thought to mention to Sam, before he signed up for the Avengers and moved back to Harlem. It’s something that Sam knows now to be a very important thing that should never ever be left out _ever again_ , lest the poor newbie after him learns it the hard way like he did.

The Avengers? Are fucking _crazy_.

And he’s got the Winter Soldier breaking regularly into his apartment to eat him out of house and home and sleep on his couch when Steve's not around, so he knows what he’s talking about.

He likes to think, though, that he’s got a handle on things by now, eight months into his tenure as an official Avenger. He barely bats an eyelid at stuff like Steve showing up in the middle of the night covered in green goo and leaning on Bucky at his doorstep, or fighting tiny adorable and deadly horned-bunny things and trying not to get himself gored on their very sharp and pointy antlers.

He might have blinked a little at the time they teamed up with a team that had a talking, gun-toting raccoon and a seven-foot-tall talking, walking tree to save the world for the umpteenth time, but hey, anyone else would’ve blacked out the second that raccoon opened his mouth to sass them.

The thing is, Sam’s not all that surprised anymore. He likes to think he’s mostly inured to the Avengers’ shenanigans by now—in fact, he’s grown kinda fond of them, the way the Avengers have grown fond of him. He figures that his mom’s special homemade recipes have something to do with that, so he always makes sure to bring something from her along whenever he swings by Stark Tower—no, sorry, _Avengers_ Tower.

Today it’s lasagna, and Sam is expecting to see clean carpets and sleek lines when he walks into the Tower’s lobby.

Most days, he’d be right.

Today isn’t most days.

—

Sam walks into the lobby and almost drops the jumbo-sized Tupperware container (with his mom’s special lasagna!) when he sees the wreck before him.

And the place is most definitely a wreck. A paint-splattered, smashed-up, probably really expensive _wreck_.

They’re under attack. Great. They’re _under attack_ , and all Sam has to protect him is a Tupperware container full of his mom’s best lasagna, one of those special bulletproof jackets Bucky keeps leaving in his apartment, and _fucking nothing else_.

He’s in the middle of praying that whoever’s attacking them can be swayed by homemade Italian when he feels a cold hand land hard on his shoulder, and he whips around and holds the container out like a shield. It’s a really silly image, all things considered, but you work with what you have.

Bucky holds both his hands up. There’s nothing in his metal hand, but there is a paintball rifle in his right hand, and a bigger one slung across his back. “I come in peace,” he says. “Heya, Wilson. Is that lasagna?”

“What,” Sam says, “the _fuck_.”

"Tower-wide paintball game,” Bucky says, waving his metal hand to indicate the scene of utter carnage. Well, that explains the multi-colored paint splatters. “Winner gets an all-expenses paid trip to wherever they want. Least that’s how Andy from R&D explained it before he tried to shoot me.”

Sam eyes the lack of paint on Bucky’s “Winter Is Coming” shirt, and says, “I’m guessing Andy from R&D isn’t going anywhere now.”

“Yep,” Bucky says, then pumps his rifle. “By the way, you’d better come with me if you want to live.”

“That a threat?” Sam asks. He grips the container tight.

“It’s a warning,” Bucky says. “Apparently this game’s an ‘every man for himself’ type of game, and right now you and your lasagna are a walking target for, oh, fifty people on this floor alone.”

As if on cue, someone screams, “GET OUT THE WAY BITCHES”, and things just happen from there: Bucky steps in front of Sam, shoving him back to the side a little, and takes aim at a guy with a frankly hideous mullet riding an office chair, charging at them with a manic look in his eye.

He pulls the trigger, hits the guy dead-on, and casually steps aside as the guy careens past them, wailing like a damn banshee.

Sam stares at him, then at Bucky. “Where to?” he says.

—

They bunker down in a storage closet-turned-fortress-slash-armory, and while Bucky snacks on Sam’s mom’s lasagna, Sam stocks up on guns and paint pellets.

“This is really good lasagna,” Bucky declares, as Sam holsters the last of his newly-acquired weapons. “Where’d you get it?”

“My mom made it,” Sam says, proud as anything, then changes the subject: “So why haven’t you allied with Steve yet? Thought he’d be the first port of call, not me.”

“Who says I didn’t?” Bucky says. “We got split up by Hill and her team, I managed to take her and two other teams out on my way down, but Steve was gone by then. If he isn’t out of the game, though, he’s probably on the fifth floor.” And he goes on to explain: the last time he’d been on the fifth floor, three different alliances and a few other stragglers were fighting fiercely for territory, and when he’d last checked the security feed Steve was on it, hiding behind a cubicle, trapped by unfriendly fire on all sides.

“So we gotta go pull his ass out of there,” Bucky concludes.

“Yeah, I’m with you on that,” Sam says. “How are we gonna get up there, though?”

“Take out everyone who shoots at us,” Bucky says.

“Sounds good to me,” Sam says. “If you shoot at me you’re not getting any more lasagna, though.”

“Deal,” Bucky says, locking the lid on the Tupperware container and stowing it in a bag. “I don’t shoot at you, you don’t shoot at me, and we both get the prize. Or split the lasagna, if anyone takes us out after all.”

—

They go in guns blazing, take out three alliances and fifteen lone wolves in the first ten minutes, and blitz their way through the first, second and third floors without running into much trouble. All right, so the Argent-Stacy alliance was tougher to take down than the rest, but by the end of it it’s Argent and Stacy with the paint splatters on their shirts, and Sam claps them both on the back as they leave and promises to buy them drinks later.

They run into Barton, his protege and his dog on the fourth floor, though.

“Put the bow and arrow down, Barton,” Bucky says, his arm rock-steady.

“Put the rifle down first, big guy,” Clint responds.

“Bishop, you’ve got better sense than your mentor,” Bucky says to the young girl—can’t be more than eighteen, but already she’s a damn good archer. Nearly tagged Sam with a paint arrow earlier, good thing Bucky was faster. “Put the bow and arrow down, yeah?”

“Sorry, Barnes,” Kate Bishop says, “but nope.” She wets her lips, cocks her head a little. “If it’s any consolation, though, we’ll send you pics.”

Lucky growls at them.

Sam says, “Hey, wait, we should talk this out—”

“Nope,” Bucky says, popping the p.

Sam groans. Time to resort to drastic measures, then. He grabs the bag with his mom’s lasagna, opens it, and yanks the Tupperware container out. Then he unlocks the lid and opens it, just enough for the smell to come wafting out.

Clint says, with an utterly betrayed look, “You _asshole_.”

“Oh my god is that _free_ lasagna,” Kate whispers, her arm relaxing.

Lucky whimpers when the smell hits his nostrils, and Sam holds the lasagna just out of his reach.

“Yeah, it’s lasagna,” Sam says. “It’s my mom’s lasagna, and—Barnes, don’t even think about pulling that trigger just yet, I’m _talking_ here.”

"I thought you were trying to distract them!” Bucky huffs, but lowers the rifle and takes his thumb off the trigger. “What the hell are you trying to do?”

“Make friends,” Sam says. “Here’s the deal—two of us can’t eat this lasagna alone. You come with us, you get a share too, and if we win, you’ll get lasagna and your trip. I mean, hell, I wasn’t even planning on going anywhere anyway.”

"Deal,” Kate says, immediately. “Lucky gets lasagna too.” The dog, as if to answer Kate, barks happily, trying to jump up onto Sam and make a grab for the lasagna. Sam, however, manages to hold his ground and the lasagna away from the dog, with some effort.

“Kate!” Clint protests.

“ _Lasagna_ , Clint,” she says, lowering her bow and sticking out her hand for Sam to shake, and that’s how Sam and Bucky end up with the Hawkeyes and their dog for allies.

—

“Team Lasagna,” Clint suggests for their new alliance’s name. They’re bunkered down behind an overturned table and snacking on Sam’s mom’s lasagna, and every so often Lucky barks and one of them stands up to feed some poor bastard paint.

“Dog Cops,” Kate says.

“Barking Commandoes,” Bucky says.

“The Flying Fighters,” Sam says.

“I don’t know, I’m kinda torn on Team Lasagna and Dog Cops,” Clint says, feeding Lucky some lasagna.

“Lasagna Cops,” Kate says, with a perfectly straight face, and suddenly Sam can’t seem to breathe because he’s laughing too hard. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” Sam gasps, “nothing, just—hey, let’s go see if Cap’s still on the fifth floor and pull his ass out of the fire.”

Clint makes a face. “Hell no we’re not going to the fifth floor,” he says. “Second we step in there, we’re toast.”

Bucky looks close to strangling him, and Sam quietly inches closer to him, to place a firm hand on his right wrist.

“Not by stairs, anyway,” Clint continues, grinning. “Stark’s vents can fit almost anything, save the Hulk. We get in one, we shimmy up to wherever Cap’s trapped, and then we save his ass.”

“Break into the security office first,” Kate says. “Figure out where he is by the feed. I’m not going in there _blind_.”

"Carlos from Tech’s set up a nest there, though,” Clint says.

Sam loads up his gun with paint pellets. “He ain’t gonna be there for long,” he says. “We’re Lasagna Cops. We’re gonna bust his ass.”

So the Avengers are fucking insane. Hell. It’s not like Sam claimed he was all that sane, either.

Maybe that’s why he likes being an Avenger so much.

\--

fin.


End file.
